


The Gang Hunts a Sex Monster

by riversfire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Case Fic, M/M, Sex Pollen, Sharing a Bed, but don't worry all the sex is hella consensual, of a sort, semi-no-consensual bed sharing, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riversfire/pseuds/riversfire
Summary: When Dean wakes up naked next to Castiel with no memory of the night before, he thinks he might have fucked up. But then he puts his foot in his mouth and his dick in his hand and he KNOWS he fucked up. Can Dean get his shit together and set things straight with his best friend before it's too late?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally for Round Two of Mittensmorgul's Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt. 
> 
> The trope was "I don't want to ruin our friendship" and the Supernatural element was “they think it’s witches but HOOBOY IT’S DEFINITELY NOT WITCHES witches would’ve been a cakewalk compared to THIS…”
> 
> I got a little carried away. Okay a lot. This was written with zero planning, I don’t even know what happened, it was just oops here’s 8k words of un-beta’ed, un-outlined, but unendingly fun for me wish-fulfillment. Hope you enjoy.

Dean wakes up slowly, his eyes struggling to open and his mind clouded with sleep. He blinks a few times to adjust to the sunlight sneaking in through the cheap hotel room curtains before absently rolling over into the middle of the bed. Although, he realizes belatedly, he doesn’t quite make it to the middle of the bed. Because something is blocking his path—or, as Dean discovers through squinting eyes—someone. 

Dean registers this just as he hears a deep groan coming from somewhere beneath him. He scoots back hurriedly in confusion as his eyes finally settle on the person next to him in bed. 

“Cas?” Dean says in a daze, his face scrunched up and his eyes only half open and struggling to focus on the man beside him. Cas just grunts and buries his face in his pillow, bringing one arm up to tug the sheet back over his chest. And that’s when Dean realizes that Cas is naked. Or at least, he’s not wearing a shirt—and Dean is not about to lift the blanket to confirm the lower-body situation. 

Okay, I’ve got a naked angel in my bed, Dean thinks to himself as he looks up at the ceiling and tries to remember how to breathe. And then his head snaps up and he looks down at his body (and how long can a man go without breathing) because he has just realized that he is also naked. As in definitely nude, nothing on his lower body, no need to check because he woke with morning wood and can acutely feel his dangly-bits touching the same sheet now grazing Cas’s left nipple naked.

Oh my god, Dean thinks, did I have sex with Cas last night?

Breathing is definitely out-of-the-question as Dean desperately tries to get his sluggish brain to come up with an answer; but all he can think about is the man lying next to him yawning in the morning light and how yeah, he’s thought about this once or twice but no, he never thought it would ever happen and fuck, why can’t he remember what happened last night?

Cas is awake now, breathing in deeply through his nose as he rolls over. The sheet falls away as Cas moves, and god help him Dean can’t do anything but stare as it skates across Cas’s tan chest, brushes down his taught stomach and exposes his—pants. 

Dean blinks. Oh thank Christ he’s wearing pants, he thinks. His brain has finally started to be helpful, most likely because he’s breathing again, and Dean realizes that of course they didn’t have sex, because he’s not sticky or smelly or gross and Cas is wearing pants, and neither of them are gay, probably, at least not really, and he’s definitely not in love with his best friend, and besides, if he had had sex he would probably feel satisfied right now instead of sporting the world’s hardest boner.

And then suddenly Cas is looking at him with his brows furrowed adorably under the messiest head of hair Dean has ever seen and oops, there goes his breath again.

Goddammit say something Winchester, he thinks.

“I'm flattered you’re so eager to jump into bed with me, but I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” Dean says.

And then he panics. He leaps suddenly from the bed and rushes to the bathroom, leaving Cas to squint at his retreating (and very bare) ass. 

He barely makes it there without falling over in his hurry, stars blinking at the edge of his vision from moving too fast. But somehow he makes it, vaulting into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. He catches his breath from the safety of the other side, leaning against the dull white door as he racks his brain. What happened last night? The last thing he remembers, they were on a case. Hunting a . . . sex monster.

Dean runs a hand down over his face. 

"Why couldn't it have just been a witch," he groans.  
. . .

 

24 hours earlier . . . 

Dean is just filling his cup from the bunker’s coffee-maker and tuning out Sam’s energetic morning greeting when Cas makes his way into the kitchen. 

“Oh good, you’re still here,” Sam says, nodding at Cas and shooting him a friendly smile. “While I’ve got you both in the same room, I wanna show you something. I think I found us a case,” he says, turning his laptop in invitation. 

Dean raises his eyebrows and shuffles over, setting his now-full cup of coffee on the table. Cas joins him in a few strides, crowding in to see. As Cas picks up Dean’s coffee and takes a sip, Sam gestures at the screen. “There’s been a series of deaths this last week in Oklahoma,” he begins. “At first I thought it was a vampire. The first vic was found in his bed—naked by the way—but completely drained of blood.”

He clicks a second tab on his laptop and points to the screen. “Male, 30s, exsanguinated,” he says, clicking a third tab. “Male, 30s, exsanguinated,” he repeats. Then he looks up at Dean conspiratorially. “But get this,” he says. “There are no wounds anywhere on the bodies.”

The room is temporarily silent as the three hunters think.

“Not a vampire then,” Cas ventures.

“So, witch?” Dean says, making a face. 

“Could be,” Sam replies.

“It is possible,” Cas agrees.

“I hate witches,” Dean says.  
. . . 

 

“It’s a weird one,” the police chief tells Dean when they show up as FBI at the latest crime scene. During the six hour drive there had been yet another death. Or rather, another death discovered. This one, like the first three, happened during the night. And this vic, like the first three, was male, in his thirties, and died in his bed.

“Fourth attack in as many nights, no wounds, no weapon, doors and windows were locked from the inside,” the chief continues. “We don’t know how they got in.”

“Did he have a security system?” Dean asks, leading the guy away from the bedroom so Dean and Cas can take a look around.

“Yeah, actually, the guy musta been paranoid or something cuz he had a camera set up,” the chief says as they walk back down the hallway. “That’s where the weird comes in.”  
. . . 

 

When the three hunters meet back up outside the dead guy’s house, they’re more confused than they were when they went in.

“No hex bags,” Sam says as they pile into the impala, Sam shotgun and Cas clambering into the back. “No sulfur or EMF either, in case you were gonna ask.”

“Wait, no EMF?” Dean asks, confused. “But I just watched the guy disappear into thin air on the security footage and I would have put money on ghost. Take a look,” he says handing over a thumb drive. 

Sam boots up his laptop and plugs it in. Cas leans over from the back seat, trying to position himself so he can see. He ends up uncomfortably hunched, brushing his elbow against Dean’s shoulder.

The video lasts only a few seconds but shows exactly what Dean said it did: A man in a wide-brimmed hat disappearing into thin air right outside the vic’s door.

“Well, there was definitely no EMF,” Sam says when the video is over.

“No sulfur either,” Cas reiterates.

“Well then what do we know that can either teleport or turn invisible that’s not a ghost or a demon,” Dean says, turning the key in the ignition. He backs out and then heads towards town. “And that has some sort of fetish for 30-year-old guys.”

“Angels,” Cas says at the same time that Sam says, “gross Dean, why does it have to be about sex?”

Dean briefly looks at Cas in the rearview mirror before turning to his brother. “Hey, I don’t make the rules, Sammy,” he says, raising a hand to list-off the evidence with his fingers, “but four guys, all handsome, same age, no connection, died in their beds—”

“Most people use beds for sleeping, Dean,” Sam interrupts.

“The first vic was naked!” Dean shoots back.

“Yeah, but the other three weren’t,” Sam counters, shaking his head. “Maybe he just slept naked.”

“I did quite enjoy sleeping naked when I was human,” Cas cuts in.

Dean gives him an offended look. “Yeah, well I only sleep naked after sex,” he says pointedly.

Cas looks from Dean to Sam. “Well,” he says, “a sex monster with a hat. That does narrow it down substantially.”

Sam purses his lips and looks out the window.  
. . . 

 

They stop at the first cheap-looking motel they come across. Dean gets one room with two queens because Cas doesn’t need to sleep, but he wonders, not for the first time, whether the clerk is eyeing their threesome and trying to decide who’s sleeping together. It’s probably what he’d do.

When they get to their room, Sam sets his laptop up and gets to researching. Cas joins him at the little table using Dean’s tablet, and Dean turns on the TV and settles on the bed to eat the burger they picked up on the way. Sam eats his wrap one-handed as he works. 

The food’s gone way too quickly and soon Dean is hovering over Cas’s shoulder, clicking links for incubi with his fingers while Cas gets increasingly frustrated at not being allowed to conduct his own research. It’s starting to get dark when Sam looks up from his chair.

“I think I got it,” he says.

Dean and Cas stop taking turns passive-aggressively pressing the back and forward buttons to listen.

“It’s an Alp,” Sam says, self-satisfied. 

“A what?” Dean says, not satisfied at all.

“An Alp,” Sam repeats. “A German creature that is able to get into locked rooms, wears a hat, and attacks people in their sleep.”

“Never heard of it,” Dean says.

“Yes you have,” Sam says, irritated. “It’s a variation on the incubus myth. Its female counterpart seems to be the ‘mara,’ which is literally where we get the word ‘nightmare.’ It’s the thing that sits on your chest and gives you bad dreams, although this one apparently also sucks all of the blood from your body.”

“How?” Cas cuts in. “The victims didn’t have any wounds.”

“That’s the thing,” Sam says. “It sucks the blood out through your, uh…” he turns slightly pink. “your nipples,” he finishes, gesturing vaguely and awkwardly in the air with one hand.

“So it IS a sex thing,” Dean exclaims triumphantly.

Cas turns around in his chair to squint at Dean.

Sam shoots Dean a look of disgust from across the table. "What kind of sex have you been having?" He says.

Dean has the decency to look embarrassed, but only barely. “Alright, send us the most promising links,” he says. “We better get cracking if we’re gonna save the poor shmuck it attacks tonight.”

“That’s a good point, actually,” Sam says, “where’s it gonna be tonight? How’s it choosing its victims? Even if we don’t figure out how to kill it, there’s a chance that just being there could save this guy’s life.”

“Alright, we’re on it,” Dean says, pulling the tablet towards him.

Within a matter of minutes they are throwing out suggestions, trying to get a lead. But nothing seems to fit and soon they’re just grasping at straws.

“This says it might go after virgins,” Sam says.

“Those guys didn’t look like virgins,” Dean scoffs.

Sam narrows his eyes. “How do you know,” he asks.

“If they were virgins, they’d look even nerdier than you,” Dean retorts.

“This lore does not seem reliable,” Cas grumbles.

“Yeah, I mean, this also says it prefers women, but that doesn’t seem to be the case here,” Sam agrees.

“So the monster’s gay,” Dean says while Sam rolls his eyes. “It happens.”

They keep working for another twenty minutes before Sam switches to scouring the victims’ profiles for hints. Eventually, he gives up on that, too, and goes back to the lore. Finally he sighs in frustration and leans back. “Maybe we could just lure it to us,” he says. “I think I found a summoning ritual. And I’ve got a trapping sigil... I mean, if it wants men in their 30s, we’ve got those in spades.”

“Handsome men, Sammy,” Dean corrects, “so you’re out.”

“I’m not certain I count,” Cas points out, frowning. 

“What?” Dean says, eyebrows raised playfully, “don’t sell yourself short, man, Jimmy’s a looker.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “I was referring to my age, Dean,” he says.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but Sam cuts him off.

“Well I guess that only leaves one,” Sam smirks, crossing his arms.

Dean stares at his brother. 

“No way,” Dean says emphatically. “I ain’t gonna be bait for some gay sex monster. What if it… does things to me?”

“Oh my god, Dean, it’s not a sex monster,” Sam says.

“This right here says it can cause erotic dreams,” Dean says, grabbing the tablet out of Cas’s hands and shoving it forcefully in Sam’s nose.

“Oh my god, fine, it’s a sex monster,” Sam shouts, trying to push the tablet away.

“I’ll play you for it,” Dean says, thrusting the tablet back into Cas’s arms and holding out his hands.  
. . . 

 

Once Dean loses the game of rock-paper-scissors, it’s time to prepare. The first hurdle is deciding what weapon to use.

“According to the lore it’s either part ghost, part vampire, part shifter, or a type of demon,” Sam says, referencing his notes.

“And has super-strength, invisibility, can turn into a mist, can turn into an animal, can fly, and is nearly impossible to kill,” Dean adds.

“I don’t think so,” Cas says. “I read that its hat is imbued with magical properties and that if you take the hat it can be killed like any vampire.”

“Really?” Sam says. “I read you need to draw blood from its right eye.”

“Yeah, well I read you stick a lemon in its mouth and set it on fire,” Dean says blithely.

“Wait, really?” Sam asks.

Dean takes the tablet from Cas again and points to the bottom of the page he left it on.

“Shit,” Sam sighs.

“So we need to shoot it in the eye, cut off its head, stick a lemon in its mouth and set it on fire?” Cas confirms.

“Well whatever we’re doing, we’re not doing it here,” Dean says, putting the tablet on the table and moving towards the door.

“I think I saw a house for sale up the street from the victim’s,” Cas says, standing up and following Dean out.

“And I guess we should see if we can find a 24-hour supermarket,” Sam says, grabbing his jacket and a hotel key.

“And dinner,” Dean calls as he opens the door to the impala and climbs inside.  
. . . 

 

Once they break into the empty house they have to work quickly. The time of death estimates all say midnight, and that doesn’t leave them a whole lot of time before the Alp chooses somebody else. 

They leave the lights out and work with flashlights instead so as not to alert the neighbors. Cas starts on the trapping sigil on the inside of the door to the master bedroom while Dean works on the summoning ritual and Sam gets the weapons. He grabs silver knives and sharpened tire irons from the impala, as well as salt rounds and a sawed-off for good measure. And some machetes, of course. They reconvene with their cache of weapons spread out on the bed in the master bedroom.

“Do you think we should cut the lemon, or leave it whole?” Sam asks.

“Does it really matter?” Dean groans, eyeing the bed with trepidation. They agree that Dean will wait under the covers with Ruby’s knife, Cas will hide behind the door with his angel blade, and Sam will camp out in the bathroom with the sawed off and a tire iron. They’ve all got silver knives and machetes close at hand.

Finally, there’s nothing left to do and it’s almost midnight. Dean climbs under the covers and Sam and Cas head to their respective corners. Once they turn their flashlights out, the room is swathed in darkness. After giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust, Dean takes a deep breath and calls the Alp.

In a matter of seconds, they hear footsteps in the hall. Suddenly the doorway gets impossibly darker, and then the shadow is moving across the room towards the bed. The footsteps stop and all they can hear is a faint wooshing sound, like the Alp is letting out a long breath.

Then Cas slams the door shut with a bang, putting his hand on the sigil and shouting “Vrasapharmion, Melchisedek, Baleathrasaron!” in his gravelly voice. The sigil begins to glow and in its blue light, Cas can see a large greyish figure looming over Dean, a wide-brimmed hat on its head.

“You’re trapped asshole,” Dean says as he thrusts Ruby’s knife at the Alp. But it doesn’t connect. The Alp’s torso blurs and separates, mist-like, as the knife breaches the area where the Alp’s body should be. Dean’s mouth is still open in surprise when the Alp’s hand comes out of nowhere and grasps the back of Dean’s head. The Alp’s sour-milk breath is hot on Dean’s mouth and Dean is pushing against the Alp’s chest but holy crap is it strong.

“Dean!” Cas yells, and then he’s running towards them, blade in hand. As Cas’s blade slices at the Alp’s arm, the creature disappears completely and Dean’s head falls back against the pillow, unsupported. Dean looks dazed and Cas is about to ask him if he’s alright when Sam goes flying across the room, slamming into the wall opposite the bed. And then the Alp is there again, lifting Cas up by the throat as he raises Cas’s face to his own, mouth wide and breath pungent.

Sam scrambles to get hold of the shotgun he dropped. He aims from the floor, hitting the Alp square in the back. It doesn’t seem to be hurt, but it does drop Cas in a heap on the floor. As it looms over Sam, Dean raises his pistol and aims at its head. The bullet takes the hat clean off the Alp’s head and as the creature gapes in shock, Sam leaps to his feet, drawing a silver knife out of the holster on his leg as he goes. Before the creature can react, Sam stabs it in the right eye. It falls to the floor just as Cas picks up his machete and lobs it at Sam. Sam catches it by the hilt and brings it down on the creature’s neck, separating head and body in one smooth motion.

“Don’t forget the lemon,” Dean says from his place on the bed as Sam stands over the body, breathing heavily. Sam draws the lemon from his coat pocket and forces it into the Alp’s slack mouth.

After that they get out of there quick—Dean carrying the head in a bag while Sam and Cas tote the body out the door and into the trunk of the impala. They keep the head up front just in case, and then Dean steps on it all the way out of the suburbs until they reach a place deserted enough for a bonfire. They salt and burn the corpse for good measure, lemon and all, and then cover the remains of the fire with dirt.

It’s now truly the middle of the night and Dean is dead on his feet. He hands the keys to Sam as they make their way back to the car. 

“You want me to drive?” Sam says, surprised.

“Yeah, well, you earned it,” Dean replies. “Plus I’m beat.”

When they get back to the motel, Dean is dozing in the front seat and Cas is leaning against the window in the back.

“I call shower!” Sam calls loudly, waking Dean up.

“Whatever,” he slurs in reply.

“Dude, are you okay?” Sam asks. Dean never lets him have first shower.

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” Dean grumbles. “And you just stink.”

It’s true. The Alp’s blood has a sour quality to it, and Sam is the only one who managed to get any on him.

“Fine,” Sam says, hopping out of the car and opening the motel room door. Dean follows zombie like, with Cas right behind.

Once inside, Sam makes a beeline for the bathroom. Dean drops on the nearest bed, leaving his feet on the floor because he can’t be bothered to take his boots off.

Cas stands there looking at Dean oddly. When Dean doesn’t make a move to change his position after several seconds, Cas lowers himself to the floor and begins to take off Dean’s boots.

“Wh’re you doin?” Dean slurs, snapping up.

“I’m helping,” Cas answers, blinking at him.

Dean looks down at him, struggling to keep his eyes open. “You do help, Cas,” he says. And then, quietly: “I need you.”

“I need you too Dean,” Cas replies softly, setting the boots aside carefully. He sits on the floor for a few seconds watching Dean’s eyelids droop before moving to get up. But when he does, he realizes his body has somehow grown heavier in the last few minutes. “Dean,” he says, alarmed, and Dean’s eyes snap open.

“What?” he says.

“I think I’m tired,” Cas explains, surprise coloring his voice even as he has to blink furiously to keep his eyes open.

“You okay baby?” Dean says, nearly falling over with the effort to focus on Cas. “Buddy, I mean,” he amends.

“Yes, I believe… I will be fine,” Cas says, tiredly. “I think the Alp did it.” He gestures vaguely towards his mouth and then continues: “with its breath.”

“God its breath,” Dean says, making a disgusted face and then laughing.

Cas smiles as he catches Dean’s eye.

“Guess the lore was… unreliable… after all,” Dean says as he languorously begins to undress, shrugging gradually out of his flannel shirt. “Can make you… sleepy.”

“Mhmm,” Cas replies as he leans against the wall, watching Dean through heavy-lidded eyes. Dean pulls his t-shirt slowly over his head.

“Man, can’ sleep o’ the floor,” he says once his shirt is no longer obstructing his view and is instead resting on his arms, covering his stomach.

“Mhmm,” Cas replies, trying to pull his shoes off without untying the laces.

“Sleep wi’ me,” Dean says, and then smiles, laughing at some joke Cas is too tired to decipher. “Do it,” he says. Cas, now blissfully shoe-less, tries to get up. He only succeeds in turning himself over onto his knees, his face leaning on his arms, which are still on the ground. “Shirt off,” Dean says, seriously this time. “’s dirty.”

Cas sighs and pulls his torso off the ground, leaning back on his calves in order to comply. But the buttons aren’t cooperating and the only thing he can think to do is rip them, so he does.

“m sexy,” Dean says, smiling.

Cas’s returning smile could light up the room, Dean thinks, and he holds out his hand to pull Cas up. But neither of them have the energy, really, so they just sit there for a second, hands grasped gently.

“m,” Dean says eventually, standing up. He pulls at Cas’s hand and Cas stands up too, not so much using Dean as leverage as he is trying to keep Dean from falling on him. “Hold on,” Dean says, and he leans his head on Cas’s bare shoulder as his hands grasp at the fly of his jeans.

Cas lets out a sound strangely like a growl and Dean thinks dazedly that he’d like to hear the sound again. But then Dean has mastered the fly and is dragging the jeans slowly down his thighs, somehow pulling his boxer briefs down at the same time and not even caring. “Dean,” Cas says, strangled, like a moan. Or a warning. As his clothes fall past his knees, Dean puts his arms around Cas’s neck to steady himself while he steps out of them. Once he’s free, Dean sits down on the bed. But he forgets to remove his arms from around Cas before he does so he ends up pulling Cas down with him in an odd little sideways fall.

But then they’re both on the bed and they can finally lie down and Cas laboriously pulls himself over to the other side seeking the pillow while Dean tugs the blankets over them haphazardly, not bothering to move out of Cas’s space once he’s back in it. As soon as Dean lays his head down next to Cas’s, they’re both asleep, not quite cuddling but unequivocally touching, sprawled over the same space and seeking each other’s body heat even in unconsciousness.

This is how Sam finds them when he gets out of the shower. He’s concerned about Cas sleeping but he can see that they’re both breathing when he awkwardly hovers beside his bed before turning out the light. He eyes the ripped shirt and haphazardly discarded clothes in interest. That’s gonna be weird in the morning, he thinks, and then he vows to sneak out of the room before they wake up.  
. . . 

 

Now: 

Dean stands in the shower, letting the hot water wake him little-by-little as it pounds on his shoulders and runs down his back.

Sure it was a weird night, but hey: for a sex monster, it didn’t turn out nearly as badly as it could have, he thinks. Thank God he didn’t try to have sex with Cas. (He didn’t try to have sex with Cas, did he?) He can’t remember what happened very clearly, although it is coming back to him. He takes stock of his memories. He told Cas to sleep with him, yeah, but literally obviously so that’s fine. The word sexy may have been uttered… but the undressing thing was not sexual at all. Well… except… that growling noise Cas made… And the way he said his name… God that sound. Dean’s heartrate suddenly jumps, and oh, by the way, his morning wood has not gone anywhere.

Dean turns around and squeezes his eyes shut, scrubbing his face a little too hard.

It’s probably just the drugged-up erotic dreams, Dean tells himself. It has nothing to do with waking up next to a handsome half-naked man. Dean lets his head fall forward so the stream of water is getting his hair wet.

What if they had done it though? Dean thinks as he grabs the shampoo bottle. It wouldn’t have to mean anything, he reasons. He’s good at sex, and there’s probably someone in each of the 48 contiguous states who would agree. Not to toot his own horn, but it’s kind of a hobby. Or at least it used to be. God, he hasn’t had sex in months.

And Cas… Cas is practically a virgin. If anyone could do with some sex, it’s probably him. Suddenly Dean is wondering if Cas woke up hard too. And then he’s replaying the image of the two of them in the same bed this morning, bodies aroused and eager, practically on top of each other. And then actually on top of each other, naked and grinding and kissing...

The lather runs in stripes down Dean’s body. He shivers as the water beats away the suds that have gathered in the hair below his navel and lets out a sigh as his right hand closes around himself. He pauses.

He’s not going to pull one off to thoughts of his best friend. He’s not. 

Is he?

What the hell, he thinks. He’s gonna be in the bathroom until Cas leaves, anyway, cause he didn’t bring any clothes with him and he is not facing that wearing only a towel. Not when he’s this horny.  
. . . 

 

Cas sits on the bed, confused. He isn’t sure what just happened, but he also remembers that waking up from a deep sleep can be a process. He looks down at his lap at the disconcerting bulge in his pants. He looks up at the bathroom door and wonders how long Dean will be. And he decides to walk it off. He sighs as he stands. He forgot how inconvenient sleeping can be. Or, rather, how inconvenient arousal can be. The sleeping was actually very nice. There’s something very… intimate and human in sleeping next to someone. Too intimate for Dean, he guesses. He sighs again as he picks his phone up from the bedside table and puts it in his pocket.

The cold air outside of the sanctuary of the blankets does wonders for his lower body. He doesn’t notice the temperature, usually. He doesn’t have to. But he finds it to be the easiest way to deal with this particular part of having a male vessel, and so he lets it in. The room is unusually cold, he realizes after a while. That means Sam must have left early.

He looks around for his shirt and finds it on Dean’s side of the bed. But when he picks it up, he sees the rip, the buttons scattered on the floor. He frowns at it for a second before he remembers. In a flash, Cas repairs the shirt. He puts it on, one arm at a time and then buttons it slowly. As the sleep clears from Cas’s brain, he thinks about what happened last night. It was… nice… to feel so uninhibited. To see Dean smile so freely. And yes, to see him naked. Cas had loved that. But he knows he shouldn’t. What was it Dean had said this morning? “I’m flattered you’re so eager to jump into bed with me, but I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” It sounded to Cas like a line in a movie. So insincere. Flippant. He wonders if Dean meant it. 

He decides to ask Sam. Pulling out his phone, he sends off a text. “May I ask you a question—besides that one?” it reads.

He gets a reply almost immediately.

“Sure, Cas,” it reads, “I’m in the lobby.”

He places the phone back in his pocket and heads out, giving the bathroom door one last look as he shuts the motel door behind him.  
…

 

Cas finds Sam in the lobby, as he was told he would, and joins him at the table where he seems to be having coffee. Sam looks up with raised eyebrows and the ghost of a smile.

“What’s up, Cas?” he asks.

“Well, I just woke up,” Cas says pointedly.

“Yeah, I wondered about that,” Sam says, leaning forward, concern coloring his features.

“It seems to have been a side-effect of the Alp’s breath,” Cas explains. “I’m actually amazed Dean was able to resist for so long. And I’m slightly surprised that I wasn’t.”

“Are we still talking about sleep?” Sam asks, suggestively.

“Yes,” Cas answers, nonplussed and slightly irritated. “We both fell asleep as soon as we got back,” he reiterates, in case Sam wasn’t listening. 

“Oh,” Sam says, looking slightly put-out. “Sorry. I thought maybe it was a Buffy/Angel type thing,” he mutters.

“No, it’s not an angel thing,” Cas says, frowning.

“No, it’s—” Sam starts. And then he stops. “Well, but if you didn’t, you wouldn’t… never mind.”

Cas continues to frown at him as Sam raises his coffee to his lips and takes a drink.

“Well, what did you want to ask me then,” Sam says, confused but genuine.

“It was… a joke I heard… in a movie,” Cas starts, brow furrowed and eyes focused on a spot slightly below Sam’s left ear.

“Okay, shoot,” Sam says, shaking his hair out of his face and putting his coffee down.

“When one says, ‘I don’t want to ruin our friendship’ in the context of an intimate situation, why would that be funny?” He asks, finally meeting Sam’s eyes once he’s gotten it out.  
“Hmm,” Sam says, eyebrows pulling together in thought. “I guess it could be the idea that,” he gestures, “that phrase,” he frowns, “is so over-used as to be little more than an excuse,” he says. “For instance, it’s something someone might say if they had no desire to be intimate and wanted to give the illusion of letting the other person down gently. Although, it also is used sometimes sincerely in like—romantic comedies—when two friends are thinking of taking their relationship to the next level—of, of intimacy—but one of them is worried that they will lose the other if it doesn’t work out. As in, they value the friendship too much to risk losing it for selfish sexual gratification.” He picks up his coffee. “I mean, I don’t know, Cas,” he finishes, “I guess I would need context to really say.”

“Huh,” Cas says, thoughtfully. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Sam, thank you,” he says, rising. “If you don’t mind, I think I will go for a walk.” And with that Cas leaves Sam sitting at the table, frowning into his drink.  
. . . 

 

When Dean gets out of the shower, it is to find the room empty. He smiles at his good fortune as he gets dressed. But when he casually glances around the room as he pulls on his assorted articles of clothing, he finds his smile slipping away. In its place is the memory of last night, how good it felt to say those things to Cas, to touch his body, to feel… Dean shakes his head forcefully. This is so fucked up, he thinks. He’s not even going to pretend he didn’t just jack off to thoughts of Cas in the shower, cuz that’s gotta be some sort of line. And actually, that’s not even the first time he’s crossed that particular line, so probably something’s gotta give.

Dean groans, audibly. He never even liked that movie anyway, Nicholson or no. Nothing has to change. Unless he wants it to. And God, he wants it to. And really, what the fuck is his problem? Except the fact that Cas might not even like guys, and really he doesn’t either, not really, and even if they were both gay as fucking penguins that doesn’t mean Cas wants him, wants to be saddled with him forever and woah where the fuck did forever come from?

Dean sinks onto the mess of blankets on the bed. His and Cas’s bed. Fuck, he likes the sound of that.

When did I become this? He thinks. I used to just go and get something if I wanted it. And now I’m sitting here plucking the proverbial flower chanting ‘he loves me not’ like some 12-year-old girl. That’s it, he decides. By the end of the day today, I will HAVE this shit FIGURED OUT.

Suddenly there’s a knock on the door. Shaken out of his reverie, Dean gets up to look through the peephole. When he sees who it is, he swings the door open wide.

“Cas!” he says breathlessly.

Cas and Dean stare at each other for a moment before Cas pushes inside.

“I forgot my key,” Cas mutters, coming to a stop awkwardly beside the bed.

Dean just stares, trying to gather his thoughts, or his nerve, or both, he doesn’t even know at this point. This could be it, he thinks, opening his mouth to say something, anything, when Cas beats him to it.

“You were right,” Cas says, eyes on the floor.

Dean is confused. “What?” he says, eloquent as ever. 

"You're right,” Cas says, dragging his eyes up to stick on Dean’s. “I thought about what you said, and the last thing I want is to jeopardize our friendship."

“Okay,” Dean says, taken aback. All he can do is hold Cas’s searing gaze.

“I realize that attraction is never an easy thing, not even for humans, and I don’t wish to let a silly, selfish thing like sexual gratification change things between us. Our friendship is enough for me.”

Dean feels like he’s choking. He has no idea what his face is doing.

“I apologize for making you uncomfortable,” Cas says. And with that, he sweeps out of the room, leaving his key untouched on the table.  
. . .

 

The trip back to Lebanon is the longest car ride of Dean’s life. And that includes the trip he took with Dad and Sam right after The First Great Stanford Fight of ’02. Dean drives the whole six hours without stopping for Sam to pee. He blares his music but doesn’t sing along, and he spends the whole trip refusing to acknowledge Cas at all. Cas, for his part, almost doesn’t even seem to be there. You’d think he was reciting the Bible and all the apocryphal works from memory in his head by the way he spends the trip staring blankly ahead, not even reacting when Dean shouts angrily at a truck that swerves in front of them on the road.

“Silverado?! More like DESPERADO you son of a bitch,” Dean screams as he flips the guy off. 

Cas just squints slightly like the sun is suddenly too bright and it’s mildly irritating.

Sam, by the way, is really confused. He’s starting to think that something really did happen last night. There’s just no other explanation. 

By the time they get home, Sam has resolved to do something about this. It’s just not right, whatever it is. So as soon as Sam has dropped off his duffel and relieved his bladder, he knocks on Dean’s door.

“What,” Dean groans without opening the door. He doesn’t shut off the music playing, either.

“Uh, I just wanna talk,” Sam calls loudly.

“Not a chance, Sammy,” Dean replies through the door. “Why don’t you try Cas, he sure had a lot to say this morning.”

“Come on, man, you’re my brother,” Sam whines. He didn’t want to pull the brother card this early, but Dean is really leaving him no choice here. He decides to pull out all the stops. “If you don’t open this door right now I’m gonna eat the rest of the pie Mom left us,” he says.

For a second, Sam thinks Dean’s actually upset enough to let him do it. But then the door swings open and he’s in. As he crosses the threshold, Dean shuts off the music with a passive-aggressive swipe at his phone. “What,” he says again, turning around.

“Uh, are you gonna tell me what’s going on,” Sam says, shoving his hands in his pockets and tilting his head innocently.

“No,” Dean says, but he crosses the room and tips the door closed.

“Dude, I think I’m entitled after the road-trip from hell I just endured at your hands,” Sam says. “And I hope you know I mean that literally, I had better company in the cage.” They both know he doesn’t mean that, but it grates at Dean anyways.

“Fucking angels, man,” Dean says in response.

Sam can work with that.

“This is about Cas?” he probes.

“Of course it’s about Cas,” Dean says, scowling.

Sam suppresses the urge to say ‘duh,’ quite heroically, he thinks. Instead he goes for sincere: “Did something happen?” he says.

Dean sighs. “I really don’t want to talk about this,” he says.

“I know,” Sam replies, “but I think it’ll help. It can’t hurt, right?”

“Can’t hurt? Really?” Dean says, suddenly worked up. “You don’t even want to know man, I’d be doing you a favor. But since you say you wanna know, I mean, who am I to keep the secrets of my sex life from my little brother. Hell, I can tell you this right?”

He doesn’t wait for Sam’s reply, but notes his pink-tinged cheeks with relish.

“I mean, one minute he’s moaning my name like a fucking porn star, and the next minute he’s all ‘sex is selfish, Dean.’ ‘Angels can’t deal with attraction, Dean.’ ‘I’d rather be friends, Dean.’ I mean what the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

Dean is breathing heavily and Sam seems to be in shock. And then he bursts.

“So it IS a Buffy/Angel thing!” he squeals. “I knew it!”

“What the HELL are you talking about,” Dean snorts angrily.

“You know,” Sam begins, eager to finally explain this to somebody, “when Buffy and Angel do it in season two and then Angel changes after.” He waits for Dean to confirm. 

Dean considers him for a second, scowling. “So I'm Buffy in this analogy?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sam says excitedly, “and Cas changed after he slept with you.”

“Wait, hold up,” Dean says, holding his hand up and frowning.

“Did you or did you not have sex with Cas last night,” Sam asks triumphantly.

“No!” Dean yells.

“Dean,” Sam says condescendingly. “When I came out of the shower you were practically on top of each other. And... naked...”

“That was—” Dean splutters. “You just took that... completely out of context,” he finishes lamely.

“No, I didn’t, and you were literally just talking about Cas moaning your name, it is not that hard to figure out,” Sam says stubbornly.

“Yeah, except I was obviously joking,” Dean yells, shaking his head obstinately. 

“Dean it's okay you don't have to lie to me,” Sam entreats, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly with his hands outstretched. “It's okay if you like guys, if you're... bisexual… or whatever.” 

“I mean, I am, I guess,” Dean says sourly, “But that's not the point. We didn't have sex. In fact, he told me this morning that he never wants to. So.”

Dean looks away awkwardly. 

“Wait what?” Sam says, abashed.

“Yeah,” Dean replies bitterly. “Some crap about how he values my friendship but doesn't want anything else.” 

“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam says suddenly, covering his face with his hand. “Did you tell him you were better off as friends?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean says. “But I was JOKING.”

“Well he took it seriously,” Sam admonishes. “You know he doesn't get your jokes Dean.” 

“It doesn't matter,” Dean huffs. “He still said—”

“Because he thought you—” 

“But he's not gay!” Dean yells.

“Well neither are you!” Sam splutters. “Besides, you have no idea what he is, you just assumed!”

“He doesn’t want me, Sam,” Dean finally says, his face betraying his pain.

“Dean,” Sam says, sympathetically. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I know there’s nothing I can say to… undo all the crap you’ve been through. But listen to me. This isn’t the way it has to be. I mean,” Sam says, his eyes widening in sincerity, “you should have seen him this morning. He was wrecked.”

Dean’s grimace breaks and Sam feels heartened.

“Cas, he… asked me about that phrase this morning,” Sam says. “’I don’t want to ruin our friendship.’” He tilts his chin down and looks up at Dean significantly. “He said he heard it on tv but… I guess he was trying to hide how… vulnerable it made him feel.”

Dean raises his hand and then lowers it in an aborted gesture. He stands very still.

“Dean, he was really upset,” Sam continues gingerly. “I thought maybe it was about the sleep thing but now I realize it's because you…” he tries to put it gently and gives a little shrug. “You broke his heart.” 

Dean takes a little step back.

“Go talk to him,” Sam says. He turns and opens the door, heading back to his own room.  
. . . 

 

Dean’s head is reeling. All of the pent-up emotion from the long day is swirling inside him, and it’s driving him crazy. Maybe even crazy enough to take Sam’s advice. Dean just stands there for a while. He doesn’t sit down, because if he sits down, he’s never gonna do it. Finally he decides he’s just gotta know. He makes his way to Cas’s room in a daze, and when he gets there, he’s almost surprised to see the door closed. He swallows uncomfortably and knocks.

“Yes?” Cas answers in his gravelly voice. It’s more than Dean’s heard from him in the last 7 hours and it makes his body ache.

“Cas, it’s me,” he calls brokenly through the door. He hates how needy he sounds, and his heart suddenly spikes at the thought that Cas might not open the door at all. But then the door is open and Cas is standing there in his stupid repaired shirt and his stupid cheap pants and Dean wants him so bad he could scream.

“I thought about what you said,” Dean says breathlessly.

Cas’s eyebrows knit together. He doesn’t move.

“Can I come in?” Dean says, gruffer.

“Of course,” Cas says, moving out of the way slightly so Dean can get through.

Dean tips the door closed behind him.

“I thought about what you said… about jeopardizing our friendship,” Dean begins again.

Cas tilts his head.

“Well,” Dean amends, “What I said about jeopardizing our friendship. I guess.” He’s starting to feel a little desperate.

Cas nods tiredly.

“I didn’t mean it, Cas,” Dean implores. “I was joking.”

“I know,” Cas says, frowning. “I wasn’t.”

Dean balks.

“Despite what you may feel, Dean, our friendship means a lot to me,” Cas explains. “It’s not a joke. Not… not to me.”

“God, Cas, I know it’s not a joke,” Dean says. “I was being an ass.” He looks down. And then he suddenly looks up. “No, Cas,” he says, suddenly sure of himself. “I wasn’t joking. I was LYING. Because… because I wanted… I WANT… more.”

Cas’s eyes widen as Dean takes a step closer.

“I don’t want to be friends,” Dean says. “I’ll try—” he looks down, embarrassed “—to be whatever you need me to be, but I WANT—” he looks up, fiercely meeting Cas’s gaze and holding it “—to be everything,” he breathes, shakily.

“Dean,” Cas answers, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “You already are.” 

They stare at each other, so much awe and fear and intimacy passing between them that the air seems to burn with the fire of it.

“Can I—” Cas says, tilting his head and moving a step closer. “—I’d like to kiss you now.”

Dean stares, unbelieving, for a few seconds more. And then he answers by suddenly surging forward, his lips desperately seeking Cas’s and his hands automatically fisting in Cas’s hair.

Cas replies in kind, drawing Dean in by the waist, urging Dean’s mouth open with an eager turn of his head. His hand snakes up Dean’s back, pulling him until they’re chest-to-chest. Dean chases Cas’s lips as Cas heaves for air like he can’t get close enough.

“Cas, I want to feel you,” he whispers, trailing his fingers along the skin at the collar of Cas’s shirt. Cas’s eyes flash open and his gaze meets Dean’s. He holds Dean’s stare as he extracts one hand from Dean’s back and brings it to meet Dean’s below his collarbone where his shirt dips. Watching for Dean’s reaction, he drags his hand down the front, popping the buttons in quick succession. 

Dean’s pupils blow wide, and then he’s gone. He pushes Cas to the bed, urgently tugging his own shirt over his head as he goes. Cas is still struggling out of his own sleeves by the time Dean has moved to the fly of his jeans, and just like last night, Cas is mesmerized. As Dean unzips himself, Cas lets out a growl. It’s an unearthly sound like nothing Dean has ever heard before, and he can’t get enough. Dean drags his jeans down his thighs, letting them pool around his feet and then kicking them off as he moves flush against Cas, eliciting a broken moan as their hips brush. The back of Cas’s knees are pressed against the bed now, and Dean works furiously to unzip Cas’s pants as he simultaneously mouths at the bare skin below Cas’s ear and where Cas’s neck meets his shoulder.

“Dean,” Cas groans as Dean gets Cas’s pants open and pushes them down. Dean grazes his fingers against Cas’s ass and then cups it firmly, using the leverage to press their bodies together in just the right way.

Cas lets out a gasp and then scrabbles at Dean’s back, his nails digging in desperately. “Dean,” he grunts, and Dean can tell he’s trying to say something more. He lets up on the pressure, moving his hand to the small of Cas’s back and leaning back to search his face.

“If we do this,” Cas says, “I can’t go back.” Dean looks at him and he takes a breath. “I will go to the ends of the earth for you,” Cas continues. “To heaven, to hell. To purgatory.” Cas smiles. And then he turns serious. “But I won’t go back.”

“Is that a promise?” Dean whispers, his voice small.

“If you want it to be,” Cas says.

“Forever,” Dean breathes as they fall together onto the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at [lunellumcas](http://lunellumcas.tumblr.com) if you want.


End file.
